You know what I'm grateful for? Fucking.
NOT LIKE THAT, SICKO.
Although, I mean, I guess…wait.
Let me start again. I like the word fucking because it’s representative of something so much bigger than that, which is the real thing I’m grateful for: freedom of expression.
Remember that cute little First Amendment? It says that the government can’t forbid us from saying and writing what we like and we can actually EXPRESS OUR OWN IDEAS. Novel, right?
Which is why it’s disheartening that so many of us don’t. That we’re petrified of being judged. That we’re intimidated by everyone else’s ideas. That we hide behind little curtains of convention, scared to rock the boat, draw attention to ourselves, or say something offensive.
There's no such thing as an idea that isn’t offensive.
EVERY new idea is, by default, offensive to another before it. It's different by its very definition. It’s supposed to stand contrary to something. Otherwise it wouldn’t be an idea—it would be a regurgitation.
You aren’t a parrot; you’re a person.
Perhaps “me, too” is the real offense worth considering.